


Soldiers

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, minor (Harry is 15)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Harry’s ill-fated Occlumency lesson, he visits Snape in a fit of guilt—with only minor ulterior motives. Will Snape allow him to cross the line? And can they both find a moment of peace amidst the war?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldiers

  
_“Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!”_

Harry absentmindedly stroked the finger-shaped bruises on his upper arm. After nearly a week, they were still there. He pressed his fingers into the yellowish marks, certain he deserved the slight twinge of pain that came from the action.

Harry dropped his head into his hands. He felt sick to his stomach over looking into Snape’s Pensieve. And even more than the now-irrefutable knowledge that his father was a bit (okay, maybe more than a bit) of an arsehole, was the fact that he’d really, truly blown it with Snape.

What was it about that snarky, greasy, _angry_ man that made Harry so... so... _distraught?_

Over the years, Harry had been certain he’d hated the man. The feelings were uncomplicated; Snape was a prick, and Harry hated him.

But now that Harry thought back over his actions in Snape’s office, now that he really confronted this anger that had assailed him over his years... he suspected there might be more than just hate. It was confusing, it was annoying, but it was _there._ Seeing a teenaged Snape, awkward and lonely, had sparked something in Harry. It didn’t create something that wasn’t there before, no. It was more than that. All the rage, all the loathing he’d built up over the years for the Potions master was boiling to the surface, but rather than alighting his blood, it was... _affecting rather another area altogether._

Harry moaned, throwing himself against the bedspread. He had blessed few moments to himself these days, and his dormmates were sure to be returning any minute. They were in the Great Hall for breakfast, which Harry had skipped, claiming he’d wanted to sleep in, since it was a Sunday. As if he’d slept at all in the first place.

Harry wished he were more surprised by his reaction to Snape, but he’d learned very young that there was not much difference between love and hate, and now it seemed it was quite easy for one to morph into the other... not that he _loved_ Snape, oh, gods, no. But Snape was a powerful and commanding wizard, and—call him masochistic—there was something about the man that drew him in.

Thinking about Snape _that way_ presented him with another problem, which, judging by his clock, he had only a few minutes to deal with.

Harry’s hand gently skimmed down his chest, bypassing all points of foreplay in favour of the main destination. His hand traced and circled his already straining cock before grasping it tightly. Images flooded unbidden into his mind, some real, most imagined. But the image that brought him to his culmination a few moments later, sweaty and somehow unsatisfied, was that of Severus Snape, hauling him out of the Pensieve by his upper arm and throwing him unceremoniously to the floor. But instead of screaming at him to leave, Snape stalked toward him, ripping off his clothes as Harry reached up for him. Their lips met in a near-painful crash, and Harry came _hard_ with his Potions professor’s name on his lips.

Whispering a quick spell to clean himself up, Harry turned his head to the side on his pillow and shut his eyes tightly. Nothing was ever easy for the Boy Who Lived.

* * *

  
Later that day, Harry was debating about whether or not to show up at the Great Hall for dinner. He was starving, there was no denying that. But he was nervous... okay, _afraid_... to see Snape. After Harry had first viewed his professor’s memories, he’d avoided eye contact with him at all possible junctures, including class. But during meals, Harry could swear he felt the weight of Snape’s gaze upon him, bearing down on him like an impossible pressure, unavoidable. Yet every time he was brave enough to look up, Snape’s eyes were fixed on his plate.

Harry decided he’d had enough of skulking around like some Slytherin, feeling sorry for himself. So he had a crush on the ugliest, meanest, most hateful professor in the school. So what? Harry was used to the impossible, and he’d triumphed countless times when told he would fail. It wasn’t like he was going to do anything about it, after all. He would just sit back and simultaneously adore and abhor Snape. Easy.

He threw on his robes and walked to the Great Hall. He wasn’t late, but most students were already there. He took his place beside Ron, staunchly avoiding looking at the head table.

“Hey, mate,” Harry said to the redhead. Ron only nodded in response, having too much food in his mouth to reply without expelling any.

“Harry, where were you today? We were getting worried,” Hermione stage-whispered across the table.

Harry smiled at her worry. “You must not have looked hard. I was only in the dorms.”

Hermione glared at Ron. “You told me he wasn’t there!”

Ron shrugged, swallowing visibly. “I figured he just needed some time alone, Hermione. Guys do, sometimes, okay?”

Hermione bit her lip, looking to Harry. “Is that true? Is everything okay?”

Harry nodded, smiling almost convincingly. “I’m fine. I was just tired and wanted to be alone for a bit. I’m okay, I swear.”

Hermione looked suitably placated, and Ron rather strategically changed the subject to their Transfiguration homework, which led to a mini-lecture on how the first ever Transfiguration was performed and how the art had changed over the years. Harry slipped in and out of the conversation, enough to make his presence known, but not enough to actually contribute anything useful.

Before he knew what he was doing, his gaze wandered over to the head table. Snape was there, as always. He sat rigidly in his chair, eating very slowly and taking sips of his drink with precision. Harry wondered about his robes and why they had so many buttons. He’d always thought it was because the man was utterly repressed, but now that he knew better, he suspected it was protection. His clothing was armour against people like his father and Sirius. People like _Harry_. Harry’s eyes widened when he realized exactly how horrible his actions had been.

And then he had to wonder: had Snape hidden the memories so Harry wouldn’t see him at his weakest... or had he removed them so Harry wouldn’t know what a complete prat his father could be? But that didn’t make sense, because Snape had no problem telling him exactly what he thought of James Potter. Harry’s head was starting to hurt from all the confusion.

“Psst, Harry!” Ron’s voice cut through his reverie. “What are you staring at?”

“What? Nothing,” Harry replied, slowly returning his gaze to the table. But he’d been caught; Hermione was looking at him strangely.

He tried to keep up with the conversation for the rest of dinner, and when he finally allowed himself to look back at the head table, Snape was gone. Harry sighed in relief. The older man was fraying his nerves, and Harry hardly knew how to handle it. But one way or another, one thing was certain: he owed Snape an apology.

Harry said goodbye to his friends, excusing himself by saying he was feeling ill. He must have looked a little off, because they believed him with no suspicion. He wanted, so desperately, to go back to his rooms, lie down, and never see Snape again except in his memories (and maybe his fantasies). But the Gryffindor in him wanted to do the right thing, no matter how painful it was—and this definitely promised to be painful.

His steps to the dungeon were slow and measured, but he still got there altogether too quickly for his liking. He stood in front of Snape’s office door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he, for once, thought about what he wanted to say.

As he hesitated, the door opened in front of him, though no one greeted him. Breathing deeply, he took a step into the office, hating how he was flooded with memories of the last time he’d been there. He couldn’t see anyone, so he just waited. Snape must have known he was there, because the door had opened, and Snape’s door didn’t open by accident.

Sure enough, Snape stepped out from a door at the back of the office, which Harry thought might be his private rooms. The Potions master stared him down, and Harry almost faltered in his purpose under the weight of the stare. Snape did not speak, and Harry knew that was a Slytherin tactic to make the other party uncomfortable, and oh, Merlin, was it working.

Harry closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. Snape was standing by his desk, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised succinctly.

“Professor, I wanted to say—”

Snape immediately interrupted. “I have no interest in what you wanted to say. Whatever business we might have had is mercifully concluded.”

Harry nodded, coming farther into the room. Snape only rolled his eyes and sat down at his desk, opening a frangible-looking tome and pointedly ignoring Harry.

“Well, I’m sorry. I know you don’t care, don’t want to hear it. But I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did; it was an invasion of your privacy. I know that. I just wanted to know...”

Without looking up, Snape intoned, “Know what, precisely? What could you have possibly thought would greet you in my personal Pensieve? Surely you cannot be so arrogant as to think it had anything whatever to do with you?”

Harry bit his lip. At least Snape was talking to him and in a relatively calm voice, so far. There was no storm discernable beneath his words, and Harry felt safe to continue with what he was going to say.

“But it did concern me, didn’t it?” Snape looked sharply at him, and Harry hastened to continue. “I mean, it explains the animosity between you and my father, between you and Sirius. Between... between you and me.”

Snape snorted. “Potter, whatever animosity there is between us exists solely on your own merit at this point. If I had any preconceived prejudices against you, you only substantiated them beyond any doubt over your years here, culminating in your most recent act of thoughtless selfishness. I feel confident in saying you would have done your father proud, though that is not a distinction with which to be pleased.”

Harry sighed. This was not going well. He hadn’t expected his apology to be accepted right away—even he was not that naïve—but now that Harry was here, it was all he could do to keep his mind off what he’d done earlier in the day, the things he’d thought while he touched himself, how _right_ his professor’s name had felt on his lips when he’d come.

A slight gasp brought him back to the present. When Harry looked at Snape, his eyes were widened, his hand resting seemingly casually on his wand on the desk. Snape stood suddenly, and Harry distinctly felt the power imbalance in the room. Had Snape seen...? Harry knew the man could do a wordless _Legilimens,_ and Harry felt a full-body blush coming on at the thought.

Snape stepped closer to him, placing his wand under Harry’s chin to lift his face. Looking into Harry’s eyes, he whispered the spell Harry dreaded most, but he did not look away, could not. Suddenly, all his thoughts and feelings, so new to him, were careening in front of his eyes, verbal thoughts and flashes showing themselves: _how could I like him what is wrong with me he looks good today must have washed his hair that's mean its true he’s so hardened if only someone softened him why not me why not now...._ The thought culminated in an altogether too clear image of him bringing himself off, shouting Snape’s name and then smiling contentedly with come on his belly and hand.

When the images faded, it was as though a fog settled, but all Harry could see was the glittering swamp of Snape’s eyes. The older man seemed to be searching for something; his eyes were narrowed and suspicious, and Harry’s gazed flicked down to the tight line of his lips quite without his express consent. Harry became aware that Snape’s hand was on his upper arm in a startling replication of where it had been after he’d viewed the Pensieve and Snape had thrown him to the ground. Harry bit his lip, wondering what it would be like to be thrown onto a bed by Snape, rather than the unforgiving stone floor.

His body was raging and his heart racing. Snape was _right_ there... just a half-step forward, just a tilt. And then his hands shot out like a flash, grabbing Snape’s face firmly and pulling him down to meet his lips. The wand tip at Harry’s chin pressed harder, but there was no other reaction.

Snape’s lips were firm and foreign, unmoving despite the insistence of Harry’s. He tasted so strange, not sweet or familiar or anything like that. Snape seemed to be frozen on the spot, and Harry took advantage of the uncharacteristic hesitation and moved his lips in a one-sided kiss, willing with _everything_ for it to be returned. His tongue darted out to press at the sealed mouth, but it retreated when not yielded to. Harry’s eyes were closed tight; he knew he had to end the kiss, and to end it meant certain death. He pulled away a millimetre before kissing Snape one last time, a softer ghost of a kiss that apologized better than his fumbling words ever could. Harry took his hands away and stepped backward, desperate to flee but staying to fight instead.

Their bodies were still incredibly close, only a few inches apart all the way down. Harry swayed, feeling like he wanted to fall into Snape’s orbit, but despite his well-reputed bravery, he could not meet his professor’s eyes.

“What... on _earth_... are you doing?” Snape’s voice was dangerously low, a hissing whisper that made Harry both cringe and throb.

“I wanted...” Harry sighed, before clearing his throat to continue. “I wanted to kiss you, so I did.” Simple as that, really; but Snape made it complicated just by being _Snape._

“And do you always just do whatever you want without a moment’s consideration for other parties involved?” he demanded. Harry was amazed he hadn’t been hexed and tried to think of what to say to keep it that way.

“Not generally, no. But I thought maybe I’d earned some good luck and you’d want to kiss me, too.” His excuse was feeble at best. He had known as a certainty that Snape would not have wanted to kiss him back, but that hadn’t stopped him.

“Potter, I’m your professor. It’s hardly—”

“It’s not against the rules, you know,” Harry interrupted. Snape looked surprised for a moment, so Harry barged ahead. “I checked. I don’t know why, but I did, and it’s not.”

Snape looked at him considering, and Harry felt a flicker of hope for the first time since he’d entered the room, but he quelled it immediately lest it get out of control.

“Be that as it may, you are a minor—”

“But kissing isn’t against the law with a minor, sir. And I would _never_ tell _anyone_ ,” Harry intruded again, biting his lip and wishing he knew how to let people finish what they wanted to say.

“Potter, this entire conversation is ridiculous. You need to leave, immediately.” His voice was stern, but there was the slightest, faintest waver at the last word, and Harry knew enough about the man to know that he never wavered. He called up all that famous Gryffindor bravery and put his hands on Snape’s chest, looking up and meeting Snape’s eyes for what felt like the first time. Harry wished they were tumultuous or uncertain, but they were completely fathomless.

Not to be dissuaded, Harry whispered, “Professor, I want you. I don’t care if it’s wrong, I just don’t care. In the next few years, maybe less, I’ll be risking my life to save everyone else’s. Don’t I deserve a moment, just a _moment_ of happiness, amidst all that? You and I both know it is very likely I will not survive this war. Can’t you give me this _one_ thing?” Harry bit his lip to keep from continuing. He doubted Snape would be moved by impassioned speeches; if, somewhere inside him, he wanted Harry at all, he would agree to this because he was an inherently selfish man, not for any compassion for Harry—of that, he was certain.

Snape had kept Harry’s gaze, and the younger boy was sure he was considering. He moved abruptly away from Harry’s hands and went to lean against his desk. He looked everywhere but at Harry, but then he met his gaze. Harry watched with fascination as Snape’s barriers fell, as though they were a tangible thing. Snape looked heavenwards, as though the answers would come through all the floors of Hogwarts from the skies and deliver him.

Finally, when Harry had begun to seriously consider stripping naked to prove his point, Severus quietly said, “I am not a man who can give you a moment of happiness.”

It was said so surely, so... _sadly_ , that Harry gasped softly. He rallied quickly and said, “But I’m telling you, you can. I’ve never asked for this from anyone else, and if you say no, I won’t find another person to get it from. I only want it from you.”

Snape winced, and Harry sensed he’d nearly won. He walked over to the conflicted man and boldly stood between his feet, as Snape was half-leaning onto the desk behind him. Wrapping his arms gently but confidently around his neck and clasping them, Harry leaned in and, pressing his cheek against that of his Professor, whispered in his ear, “You have more to offer than the information you gather. Let me show you.”

Snape’s head dropped forward a little, and Harry knew the battle was won. His comment, though said strategically, was entirely honest. Snape was more than the sum of his deeds, good or bad. It had taken him years to learn it, and maybe he still was learning it, but he knew it to be true.

Harry pressed his lips to the soft spot below Snape’s ear, scraping his teeth gently against the pale flesh and nipping. Snape made a sound that might have been a moan, coming from anyone else, and hesitatingly put his hands on Harry’s waist, fingers grasping tightly. Harry trailed kisses along the strong jaw line and finally pressed his lips firmly against the slightly parted ones he desired most.

Snape allowed Harry to dominate the kiss for all of three seconds before he grasped the younger man’s jaw and took over, kissing Harry harshly, bruisingly. Harry whimpered softly at the onslaught, but was inwardly rejoicing. Despite having gone from hate to... this... in only a few days, everything about it felt right and natural. He returned the kiss with vigour, but allowed the older man to lead it, gasping at the feeling of those strong and slender fingers digging into his waist, sure to leave bruises.

Snape pulled Harry tightly against him, and their bodies aligned from knees to lips. One of Snape’s hands was between his shoulder blades, pressing persistently, and the other was lightly stroking the skin under Harry’s shirt, just above the soft swell of his arse. Harry moaned when his body connected with Snape’s, a hardness mirroring his own that was making its presence known.

Snape’s mouth attacked his throat, and Harry’s head fell back, his hands clutching at the front of his teaching robes as his neck was bitten and licked, and best of all, _kissed_. Snape’s kisses were impossibly hot and demanding, and Harry yearned to be deserving of them.

“Gods, Professor, feels so good...” Harry murmured, pleased to be able to string together words in a near-coherent fashion.

“Potter, please, don’t remind me of my position, for goodness’ sake,” Snape groaned against Harry’s neck, and Harry laughed shortly before his breath was stolen by Snape’s hand snaking into the back of his trousers, finding room easily as they fit him so poorly. His arse was stroked and clutched, and Harry couldn’t stop his hips from grinding forward against Snape’s crotch and backward against his hand.

“What should I call you, then?” he asked breathlessly.

Snape answered by taking Harry’s shirt off, leaving him bare-chested and inexplicably shy. Harry met Snape’s mouth again, and he took in the taste of what could be likened to nothing, but was somehow exactly what he wanted.

Finally, Snape actually responded, “Call me Severus. Just for tonight and never again.”

Harry nodded. He’d known in coming that if anything happened, it wouldn’t be more than one night, and he felt lucky to get even that. But he had a condition. “Will you call me by my first name?”

Snape nodded, running fingers over Harry’s hairless chest and scraping the nipples while taking in the reaction on Harry’s face. “If only because the name has fewer negative connotations for me.”

Harry shrugged, eyelids fluttering at the sensations Snape’s nimble fingers were garnering from him. Anything Snape wanted, he would do, at this point. He simultaneously hoped the other man knew that and hoped he didn’t.

Snape pushed Harry back, and for a horrifying moment, he thought he was being rejected. But Snape took his wrist in hand and led him through the door Harry had seen him enter through. He’d been right in assuming it was Snape’s private quarters, and they were as austere and severe as Harry had pictured.

Snape took him through the living room, which he quickly noticed was designed in lots of grey. Grey walls, grey floor, grey furniture. The only colour in the room came from the multitudes of books that lined nearly every available surface and wall. But his perusal was cut short when Snape led him to his bedroom. Upon entering, Harry hesitated. It was what he wanted, yes, but it had moved quickly, and to best honest, he’d expected to have to grovel and flatter a bit more.

He pushed his hair back from his face unconsciously and met Snape’s eyes. He recognized a flash of anger in them, which he quickly attributed to his unconscious nervous habit, which undoubtedly reminded Snape of his father. Harry had felt ashamed of the way his father and Sirius had acted toward Snape, and even Lupin’s apathy was hard to take, but he still loved and respected them all. However, if getting Snape be with him, even just this once, meant that he had to tone down the Potterness, he would without qualms.

To eliminate any and all thought of his sire, Harry pressed himself against Snape again, slipping his arms around his neck and kissing him softly, his body bending backward slightly in his attempt to reach, even on tiptoes.

Snape responded immediately, teeth biting at Harry’s lips before licking them softly and parting them for entry. Harry tried to think through the barrage of feeling, his hips grinding against his professor’s cock, knees feeling weak at the incredible feeling that flooded him. He quickly unbuttoned the repressive robes and pushed them down and off, doing the same with the white shirt beneath. He immediately went to Snape’s belt buckle, but he froze as hands smoothed over his arse, pulling his lithe body hard against the taller one. He moaned, hands awkwardly pulling at the belt, gasping as one of those hands slipped between his cheeks outside his pants, the fingers deftly probing despite the fabric, until Harry felt the fingertips move over his crease to press into his balls from behind. The hand was caressing and stroking and Harry could hardly stand.

He’d managed to undo the belt, but his hands went to Snape’s shoulders for support instead of finishing what he’d started. Snape deftly undid Harry’s belt and pulled his trousers and pants down in one fell swoop. Harry was shocked at the quick work, but then a hand was on his arse again, pressing him against Snape’s still-covered cock, and Harry shivered at the feeling of rough cloth against his sensitive arousal. The hand was kneading and gripping his buttock, and Harry was unable to halt the throaty groan that escaped him.

Snape pulled his face from Harry’s neck for a moment to murmur in his ear, “Are you absolutely sure, Harry? I won’t ask again.”

“I’m sure. I want this, need this,” Harry moaned, whimpering softly when his mouth was covered again and a slick tongue invaded his waiting mouth. Snape certainly knew how to kiss, not that Harry had much experience; he only hoped he was measuring up for Snape. He couldn’t explain what it was inside him that wanted so desperately to please the man he’d detested for long, but the intensity of his feelings were enough to convince the Gryffindor; he needed no profound introspection to persuade himself.

Snape led him backwards to the bed, and Harry lay back when he felt it at the backs of his knees. He crawled into the middle and tried to look casual, uncomfortable in his nudity but at the same time melting under the heated stare of the Potions master.

Snape sat down on the bed beside him, still holding Harry in his gaze, and caressed his chest with a potions-stained hand. Harry closed his eyes, trying only to feel in order to hold off the embarrassment at being exposed. His cock was straining and precum was sliding down it, but he ignored it in favour of the way Snape was flicking his nipple with a blunted fingernail. He squirmed, the cotton coverlet feeling cool and soft beneath his back. It hit him that he was laying nude on his professor’s bed after having practically begged to be fucked. Harry’s breath let out in a sharp gasp, his eyes opening to look at Snape, to get grounded again. To make sure it was real.

When Snape’s hand stroked his cock in gentle, fluid motions, Harry was convinced it was real. He moaned, arching into the touch. Snape was undressed now, and Harry found himself entranced by his professor’s arousal. Snape was obviously very affected by what was happening, and Harry couldn’t resist sitting up to swipe the head of that cock with his tongue. Snape made a noise low in his throat, and Harry repeated the action, uncertain in his inexperience, but making up for it in enthusiasm.

“Lay back,” Harry whispered, and Snape amazingly did as he was bid without comment. But all illusions of control on Harry’s part were lost in the next moment, when Snape pulled Harry atop him, spreading his legs so he straddled Snape, their cocks pressing together, eliciting a moan from both.

Harry leaned over his professor and kissed him. He never imagined kissing Snape would be so wholly erotic. Snape guided the kiss and Harry let him, trying to mimic what the older man did, and apparently doing well if the noises Snape made were anything to go by.

“Harry,” he whispered against the boy’s lips before devouring his mouth again. Harry had to stop his grinding movements against Snape in order to stave off his orgasm, and hearing his name like that from Snape’s sinful lips was almost too much.

Snape’s hands trailed down his back, over the knobs of Harry’s spine to grasp his arse, dragging him unmercifully over Snape’s erection. A finger delved into Harry’s crevice and he gasped. Despite his anatomical knowledge of his own body, and what boys who liked other boys _did_ with their bodies, he’d never had so much as a finger inside himself.

“Relax, I will make it feel good,” Snape told him in his soothing baritone. A finger brushed over his hole, and Harry shivered. It felt so forbidden, but so _good._

“It will hurt, won’t it?” Harry asked, knowing the answer already but wanting to hear the truth.

Finger still circling Harry’s entrance, Snape answered honestly, “It will probably hurt at first. But I promise, Harry, I won’t hurt you on purpose in any way.” Harry had known this, had known Snape didn’t want to actually _hurt_ him, despite all his bluster.

“I know that, Severus. I’ll try to make you feel good as well,” he responded, blushing at his words but smiling when Snape only smirked at him.

Pressing his hips up against Harry’s, he said only, “You already are.”

Harry enjoyed the power of making Snape so hard, but all triumph was gone when a finger suddenly entered his body. It felt slick, and he realized it was lubricated. The breaching was uncomfortable, and even a finger felt impossibly large within him. Harry bit his lip, looking into Snape’s eyes, who met them unflinchingly. Another finger was added and Harry’s mouth dropped open. They slid slowly in and out, and Harry found himself pressing back against them, somehow enjoying the burn and stretch.

Suddenly, Snape touched something that made his hips jerk down harshly and lights go off behind his eyes. It was unlike anything he’d ever known, and it kept happening.... Harry moaned wantonly, grinding his body against Snape’s and thrusting back onto the fingers, wanting Snape to do _that_ again. And he did, until Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“Severus, going to come! Oh, gods!” he cried, thrusting against Snape’s pulsing cock as the fingers pressed mercilessly against that spot inside him, coming in jerking spurts and crying out. His orgasm felt like it had ripped his veins open, and every part of his body was hyper-sensitive.

Snape carefully placed him on his back, soothing Harry’s body with surprisingly gentle motions. After only a few moments had passed, Harry felt a twitch in his cock when he gazed upon Snape’s swollen hardness. He took Snape’s hand and guided it back between his thighs to his slightly sore but willing hole. Snape moaned, immediately slipping a finger back inside him. Harry’s cock rose when Snape settled between his legs, leaning over him for a voracious kiss, which Harry met with equal force.

When Harry felt another, and then another finger enter him, he was sure he was in heaven. The pain was gone, replaced by a delicious stretch, making him ache in a most satisfying way.

“So tight, so damn tight,” Snape was murmuring against his neck, which he was marking liberally with lovebites. Harry threw his legs even wider, rolling his hips in such a way that surprised even himself.

“Want you inside me,” Harry moaned, throwing his head back as his prostate was repeatedly stroked.

“So fucking innocent, so untouched, so perfect.” Snape’s words went straight to his cock, and despite only just coming, he felt ready to release again. But Snape was coaxing Harry’s legs to circle his waist and raising Harry’s hips to meet his cock, and Harry forced himself to relax.

Snape’s cock nudged his stretched entrance, forging through the initial ring, and both men moaned as Snape filled Harry deeply, allowing the younger man only moments to adjust before pulling back and filling him again.

“Oh, Severus, so good, it’s so _good_ ,” Harry babbled. If only he’d known... but he was glad it was Snape doing this, because the man was showing admirable restraint and care, and Harry felt no pain, only pleasure.

Snape was fucking Harry with abandon now, sinking into the boy’s tightness and grinding his hips upon filling him. His fingers on Harry’s hips were bruising, but it only added to the sensations flooding him. His legs tightened around Snape’s waist, locking at the ankle and using him as leverage to pull Snape deeper, harder, faster....

Finally, Harry’s cock, untouched except for the friction from their bodies against it, erupted again in white ropes against both of their abdomens, his eyes falling back into his head, and his breath becoming impossible to catch. His arsehole clenched around Snape’s cock so tightly he was sure he could feel the veins in it, and Snape thrust more erratically, finally coming with an animalistic shout and a look on his face so perfectly sublime that Harry felt his entire world settle. Snape’s face fell against Harry’s sweaty throat, nipping his skin and gasping for breath.

Harry ran his hands over the man’s scarred and slick back, fingering each mark curiously and feeling strangely at peace and comfortable, despite the cumbersome weight atop him.

Snape rolled off Harry and onto his back, pulling a sheet over his lower body after casting a Cleaning Charm and thankfully including Harry in its scope. Harry felt suddenly awkward, knowing he couldn’t stay the night, but wanting to more than anything. He’d have to get up, get dressed, and leave like a whore. It embarrassed him, and he felt tears prick his eyes, which he closed against the onslaught.

“Not regret already? That must be a record, even for me,” Snape commented sardonically.

“Not regret, Severus. I’m very glad this happened. I will never forget it,” Harry said honestly. It felt so good to just _feel_ something, and he wondered if Snape felt the same way—but he would never ask.

“You shouldn’t stay here tonight,” Snape informed him, brushing Harry’s hair from his face and tracing the line of his jaw before pulling his hand away. Harry caught it and returned it to his face, kissing it as it traced his kiss-swollen lips.

“I know. I’ll leave soon.” Harry looked away.

“I—Harry. Thank you. I haven’t... in a long time. And for your first time, you were...” Snape trailed off, a look of extreme discomfort on his face, and Harry had to wonder if giving compliments actually hurt him. “...perfect,” he finished.

Harry nodded his thanks. “You were amazing, Severus. It was better than I even hoped it could be. And I want to do it again,” he added forcefully, meeting Snape’s pitch black eyes.

Snape sighed. “You know we cannot. We both agreed it was only this time. It can’t become anything, Harry. We are both too important in this war; we would only put one another at risk.”

Harry grabbed Snape around the neck, pressing his tired body firmly against the scarred one before him. “I don’t care anymore. Doesn’t it feel good to be selfish, for once? Doesn’t it feel good to have something to yourself? A secret you don’t have to tell?”

Harry knew Snape wanted it as badly as he did, he knew it like he knew he’d just been fucked through a mattress. Maybe Snape was a master of deception, but Harry knew him better now and knew when he was just putting on a front.

“What we want doesn’t matter, Harry. That’s the life of a soldier. We are needed; we cannot sacrifice others for our own happiness. I know you know this.” Snape’s voice had gone quiet, and they both knew he was trying to convince himself as much as Harry.

“You listen to me, Severus Snape, and listen good. When this war ends, _you come find me_. I don’t care if you’re half dead, half a man, half insane. _Find me._ I am not giving up that easily, and I won’t lose you to Him or to anyone.”

Snape was looking at him so intently at Harry, he wondered if the man would ever answer. “Well?” he prompted.

“It’s time for you to go, Harry.”

 

 

 

The end.


End file.
